


by any other name would smell as sweet

by saintnoname



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Brainwashing, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, Consent Issues, M/M, Memory Loss, canon character death, no sunshine and rainbows to be found here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 02:17:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7248142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saintnoname/pseuds/saintnoname
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The name is both a gift and an apology--something being offered up to take the edge off of what's to come.  Mostly, it's to assuage Brock's own guilt.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	by any other name would smell as sweet

He had a name once.  He knows he had a name once.  He just doesn't know what it was.

The only name he knows is Winter Soldier.  Sometimes, he's called "the Asset."  Other times, he's called "Comrade."  But he's never called his actual name--his real name.  The one they refused to give him.

The room is silent.  The silence is thick like ballistics gel, and the tension is a bullet lodged in the Soldier's chest.

The mission had gone haywire.  It wasn't a failure, but quite frankly, it was a mess.  But it was enough.  A sloppy but successful mission was still enough.  Nothing short of perfection has ever been expected of the Winter Soldier.

Which is why the Soldier is currently sat in the chair, waiting for the techs to return.  He's unrestrained and alone aside from one man in the room with him.

Brock Rumlow is leaning into the crook of his arm which is pressed against the wall.  His face is hidden from the Soldier, but the Soldier can hear him.  "Fuck," Rumlow spits out, and it's muffled by the arm against his face.  "Fuck!"  His fist slams into the wall, the sound cutting through the silence so loudly that it makes the Soldier jump.

Rumlow turns to look at the Soldier.  "I didn't want this," he says panic in his gruff voice.  "You have to believe me.  I didn't want this."

The Soldier believes him.  He doesn't know what difference telling him this makes.  He's going to be wiped, and put into cryo, and his knowing that Rumlow.... _Brock_...didn't want this isn't going to change anything.

It's the longest he's been out of cryo since the 1950s, and his programming is starting to wear off.  That's what the technicians said, at least.  If they knew the whole story, they'd blame the breakdown of the Asset's programming on Brock Rumlow.

 "I know you didn't want this to happen," the Soldier says quietly, because apparently, it's something Rumlow needs to hear.  The Asset studies that face, takes in every detail as if trying to cling, to make himself remember.  He's full aware that when he gets out of this chair, he won't recognize this man.  But still, he clings.  Still, he tries.  Still...

"This isn't my fault," Brock grits, raising his voice.  Without warning, he's in the Soldier's face, and the Soldier finds himself wondering if he's about to be slapped.  But then Brock's hand is on his cheek--not slapping, but stroking.  For all the rage coursing through the man, his touch is gentle.  "It's not my fault," Brock repeats.  "And it's not your fault either, James."

The Soldier's eyes blow up, and he shudders beneath the man's touch.  It's like a dam has burst open, and the Soldier feels heartbreak and sorrow and pain and a million other emotions that he hasn't felt in he literally doesn't know how long, because he doesn't remember anything from before the last time he was in this chair.  "Why did you call me that?"

"Cause that's your name, kid."  Rumlow takes his hand off the Soldier's face and steps back.  "Your name is James."

_James_.  His name is  _James_.

The name is both a gift and an apology--something being offered up to take the edge off of what's to come.  Mostly, it's to assuage Brock's own guilt.

It almost seems a cruelty to tell him his name now, when he's about to be wiped.  Now, when he's moments away from forgetting again.  But it doesn't matter, because he  _is_ about to be wiped, and then his pain will be gone again.  James and Brock don't speak again as they wait for the techs to return.

 

* * *

 

 When the Soldier is taken out of cryo, he doesn't recognize Brock Rumlow, and he doesn't remember his name.  He knows he has a name, but he's only ever called "Winter Soldier," or "the Asset," or "Comrade."

The Soldier only sees Brock Rumlow one more time.  He's being forced back in the chair, and he feels a pang of familiarity when he meets the man's eyes.  There's something searching in the man's eyes, as if he's looking for something as he studies the Soldier's face.  Whatever he's looking for, he must not find it, because he follows Pierce out of the room as the proceedure begins.  The Soldier never sees Brock Rumlow look back.

 

* * *

 

 

Years later, Bucky Barnes is sat in a different chair, and he remembers everything.  He remembers every person he's killed.  He remembers playing marbles in the streets with Steve Rogers when they were kids.  And he remembers his brief and ill-advised affair with Brock Rumlow.

He's alone aside from one man in the room with him.

"Your first name is James?" the man asks.  Bucky doesn't answer.

Bucky had never gone by his first name.  Even when he was a little kid, he'd gone by Bucky.  Whenever a teacher called for James Barnes on the first day of school, he'd always corrected them, informing them right away that he went by Bucky.  But James was the name Brock had given him when he had none.  And he'd forgotten it when he was wiped right after, but later on, he remembered.  Really, it was the name Brock gave him even moreso than it was the name his parents had given him, considering even his parents never called him that.

And now the man who told him his name was James when he'd only been called "Winter Soldier" or "Asset" or "Comrade" is dead.  And now there's a man sitting on the far side of that table with his glasses and his files and his falseness and he  _won't.  Stop.  Using.  That.  Name._  And it's bringing back the memory of the dead man who gave him that name, and it's bringing back the emotions, and the loss he'd never really dealt with, and he feels it building to a crescendo until he can't hold it back anymore.

"My name is Bucky."

The man seems taken aback at first, but then he continues unfazed.  "Tell me, Bucky: you've seen a great deal, haven't you?"

Bucky's relieved when the man calls him Bucky.  "I don't want to talk about it."

Inwardly, he answers the question.  Yeah.  Yeah, he's seen some shit.


End file.
